


Hot, but not sick.

by fxthers



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dave gets sick, Kind of hurt/comfort ??, M/M, and mentions of sex, but nothing dirty, there's some swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fxthers/pseuds/fxthers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and you never get sick. Until that one time you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot, but not sick.

You never get sick. 

You know the symptoms and shit from listening to John complaining about it, or Rose griping about hauling her mom’s wasted ass into bed, but you’ve never actually been sick. Bro always said Striders were too chill to get a fever, and you can only remember throwing up once (and that was probably from the entire two jugs of apple juice you chugged for a dare). You don’t think you’ve even gotten the sniffles, let alone a cough or the aches. Living in a small apartment in the middle of Texan heat, where its too hot to step outside and do stuff, probably helped you stay healthy. 

Ok, not healthy. You lived off of hot pockets and take-out. But the fact remains, you’ve never gotten sick, and you didn’t plan on ever letting it happen, either. 

So, when you wake up one morning with a searing pain in your throat, you attribute it to all the sick beats you dropped the night before. And when your nose starts watering, you’re pretty sure its because you’re allergic to the shit Rose uses to clean the meteor ‘ablution blocks’. (How the fuck did she alchemize lavender bleach? You’re pretty sure that's chemically impossible.) You bet those nasty-ass mutant fumes were what gave you your cough, too. And you’re only achey because you’ve had extra time to do whatever you want on this boring-as-fuck meteor, and have to resort to hours of mindless sword-swinging to keep yourself amused. 

You’re definitely not sick. Just feeling shitty. 

Sniffling, you pad into the kitchen, face otherwise stoic. You’re really hungry, but you haven’t eaten yet today because you feel vaguely nauseous (fucking bleach). You’ve decided you really need to get something into your stomach though, cause its starting to drop some beats of its own. 

As you scour the cupboards for something edible, you wonder if it would be possible to stick stomach rumbles into your raps. Could be pretty fucking rad, you think, eventually pulling out some stale crackers. You confidently say stale, because you’re pretty sure they’ve been there for two months already. You don’t care while you struggle to chew some down, ignoring how much they taste like cardboard. 

You’re on your third cracker when a coughing fit starts up in your lungs. Except, this time your coughs are deeper, and it almost feels like they’re coated in fluid. Ugh, ew, fuck. You can’t stop hacking for a good minute, trying to muffle your breaths with your sleeve. You’re pretty sure your nose is starting to plug too. 

This isn’t cool. 

Dragging in deep breaths, you try desperately to pretend you don’t still feel like you should be throwing up a lung. Maybe you inhaled some cracker by accident, you muse, eyes running. You need to get yourself under control before someone barges in.

It’s like the universe decided to take a particularly big shit on you today.

Karkat marches into the kitchen, looking huffy and exasperated as per usual. You stay where you are, crackers in one hand, eyes streaming. Still, you make your face relax into a neutral expression, and ignore how wet your cheeks are. 

“Sup.”

“What the taintchafing fuck is wrong with you, Strider?”

You let your head tip a little to the side. “Just the way you walk has me tearing up, Karkles. You’re like a god-damn miracle, wrapped up in rage and can’t-mind-my-own-fucking-business.”

You have to clear your throat to keep yourself from coughing again, but it doesn’t really help. Hey, when did breathing get this difficult again? Maybe rushing through space is finally having a weird affect on your body. Gravity and shit all over the place. 

Karkat stops in front of you, scowl widening. He’s in a pair of sweat pants and a black t-shirt, with his cancer insignia printed on the front. His hair is mussed up, and he kind of looks like he just woke up. Oh, yeah, its night. Or, the closest you can get to night on a meteor shooting through space. Half-past two in the morning, your mind helpfully points out.

“You look like shit,” he states, face relaxing marginally. Wow, fucking rude. 

“Right back at you, Kit-kat,” you turn to put the crackers away, and have another clever retort ready for when you switch back. Instead, a steady stream of coughs come out. 

“No, I’m fucking serious. Are you ok?” he’s asking, taking a step towards you. You’re having a sort of hard time breathing around the coughs, let alone being able to respond. You do, however, take your own step back, motioning to yourself as if you are fine. 

You are fine. 

“Stop moving away- no, come back here, Strider. If this is a troll flu it could kill you, you dumb shitstain.”

You keep backing up, still coughing, until you hit the counter and almost double over, wheezing. Ow, your chest feels like it’s been torn up on the inside - like someone shoved your own sword into your lungs, and let it rattle around for a bit. Each breath of air burns when you suck in, and your eyes are watering again. Fuck, no, this isn’t happening. You’re not sick. Fuck that. Fuck everything. 

You sneeze, sniffling reflexively, and half sag against the counter. Fuuuuuuck.

You barely register that Karkat is literally right in front of you until something wonderfully cold is lying against your forehead. Wow, you knew you were hot, but damn. 

“Holy shit Dave, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Karkat is grabbing your arms now, and through your slightly-less-bleary eyes, you think he actually looks concerned. Pissed, but concerned. 

“M’not sick. Hot, but not sick,” you insist, trying not to cough again. Yeah, ok, on second thought, the kitchen is a little warmer than you remember. And did the ceiling fan always spin that fast? You don’t feel any air, so how can it be spinning anyways? What a shitty fucking fan, can’t even keep you cool. Not that you need to be any more cool than you already are. You’re already fuck as cool. Cock as fool. Cook as... Fuck, whatever. 

“Holy tits, Strider-!“ Karkat’s arms are somehow around you, and whoa, look at that, the floor is closer. Huh. Are those stars? 

“Fuck, don’t- keep your eyes open. I can’t even fathom-“ his voice cuts in and out, and you’re aware that he rips off your shades, but you can’t remember how to bring your hand up and stop him. How do fingers move again? You try twirling them about, but you aren’t sure if it works or not. 

Karkat is dragging you, you think, because you feel like you’re floating and falling all at once, and the walls dim and lighten and dim again. Your stomach twists, and you feel another burn in your lungs, but you don’t want to start coughing again. Ugh, you are too hot, you conclude, groaning lightly. You think Karkat gets you into a room - the bathroom? - and turns on the tub.

Wait, is he just going to have a bath with you there? You almost giggle. Or maybe you actually do, because he’s giving you another worried look as the tub fills up. Hey, no, Striders don’t giggle, you’re too chill. Except right now. Right now you’re also too hot. 

Then Karkat is grabbing you again, hauling your shirt and pants off - whoa, you want to say, you haven’t even taken me on a date - and then you’re submerged in _freezing fucking cold_. 

It’s like an actual breath of air. You gasp, shaking, and clutch at Karkat’s shirt, writhing in the cold water. 

“Hold still! If I don’t get your fever down, your weak human-proteins will die, and you won’t be able to exist,” Karkat is practically snarling at you, holding your body firmly beneath the water. As he talks, you’re beginning to realize that yeah, the water is making you feel better. You can’t stop shaking, though, and you’re really tired, and fuck, wet boxers are disgusting. 

You think you actually let out a whimper. 

Karkat’s face changes as you settle down, still clinging to his shirt. His stark yellow eyes are boring into your own, and you think you can make out little red flecks in them. Huh, you think, you’re both going to look pretty similar in a bit. 

“Seriously, why didn’t you mention this? Don’t you think the rest of us would like to know if you’re planning on...”

“Kicking the bucket?” you supply, almost snickering at how red his face gets. 

“Shut up! How are you this much of fucksquatting pain in the waste chute when you’re sick! What I meant is, do you think any of us want you dead, Strider, you dumb, nooksniffing shithead?”

“Was kinda under the impr’ssion you did,” you shrug, shuddering around another couple of coughs. The water is deliciously cool now, and soothing to your hot tremors (despite the fact that your toes feel numb).

“I don’t hate you,” Karkat mutters, and for once you don’t detect a note of exasperation in his voice. You blink slowly, letting your brain mull over that for a second. Clearly, you’re not in great working condition right now. Doesn’t anyone know what happens when you get a clock wet?

“I don’t get sick,” you eventually explain, lips trembling a little. “Never have, never will.” 

You know the water can’t be that chilly, but between the warmth burning through your chest and the cold snapping your limbs, it feels like a canadian's kiddie pool.

“Yeah, well you look pretty fucking sick to me,” Karkat growls, and the crease between his eyebrows comes back. “Can you let go of my shirt for a minute? You’re getting me wet.”

“Want me to fix that?” you reply without a beat, even managing to wiggle your eyebrows as your hands drop from his shirt. “Well, I guess I would make it worse first, but-“

“Shut your food chute, Strider,” Karkat snaps as he pulls back, but his cheeks are red again, and you have to resist another urge to laugh. “That was pretty fucking weak.”

“I’m burning up in a tub, what do you expect,” you sigh, crossing your arms over yourself. You feel a little dizzy still, but you think things are becoming clearer. For example, you’re finally questioning why the fuck Karkat is taking care of you. What’s he doing up at two forty-six in the morning, anyways? 

“What were you doing up so late?” you voice your question as he heads towards one of the cabinets, pulling out a white towel. 

“I just decided that getting up at ungodly human hours to peruse the halls of the meteor would be productive,” his voice dips impressively deep into the metaphorical pool of sarcasm, and he waves the towel a little as he walks back. “I love being awake alone in a dark, cold, cavernous place. In fact, why don’t you try wooing Terezi by sticking her in a freezer? Trolls love that!”

“Flatten your fur, Kit-kat, it was just a question.” You kind of hope he’s going to let you out of the water now. You’re shaking more, and its starting to get uncomfortable. The water sloshes as you sink down a little, curling in on yourself. Unfortunately, the aching has only gotten worse.

“I was getting some water,” he finally answers, eyes flickering down. “Do you need help out or what?”

You snort, suppressing another shudder. No, you don't need any god damn help. If you can wield Caledscratch, you sure as hell can stand on your own. You realize your mistake, however, as you try to get to your feet. Ok, limbs are locking up, and moving is a bad idea. You pitch awkwardly over the tub from your half-knelt stance, hands slipping off the wet cast iron. Karkat's arms are there again to catch you again, this time impossibly warm against your skin. You kind of want to melt into the touch, until it eradicates the shivers creeping up your back. 

Maybe you are sick. 

“Come on, lean on my shoulder,” he’s commanding, helping you out while simultaneously wrapping the towel around you. You’re really tired, you think, leaning even closer to him. He tenses up a little beneath you, but you’re kind of done with caring. He feels nice, and you feel like shit, so whatever. 

“You smell nice for an alien,” you note, burying your head into his shoulder. Yeah, he’s definitely tensing up. Wait, you said that out loud. Hold on.

“Whatever, just walk. I’m getting you back to your room,” Karkat replies, though you swear his voice shakes a little.

Do you like this, you wonder, shuffling side-by-side with him towards the nearest transportalizer. You’re very aware of where his arm is looped around your abdomen, and you were serious about how he smells. A little like… Burning wood, you decide. Wood and cinnamon. You guess you kind of do like being close to him, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he was attractive. Like damn, troll cheekbones. You guess he’s a little abrasive, but you kind of like that too? He doesn’t bullshit you, and he sticks around even when you’re being an idiot. And somehow he always fucking knows when you’re upset, and he doesn’t pick at it, he just treats you like always, and you really appreciate him and his stupid, cute troll horns. 

You guess you do like him.

This personal revelation seems a little anticlimactic, because unlike those sappy romcoms Karkat watches, you just sort of slip into agreement. Like, _oh, ok, yeah, I definitely would cuddle with him, and watch shitty movies just to be with him, and hold him when he’s sad, and fuck him into my mattress_.

You snuggle a little closer. 

It takes exactly thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds to get back to your room, and almost forty seconds to cross over to your bed. Karkat is looking around curiously, even though he’s been in there before. 

“Come on, lie down,” he grumbles, pushing you towards your bed. You do so, sighing happily. You really are exhausted. Your bed is still cold, though, you notice, and cough a little into your pillow. 

“Are you going to manage living through the night?” Karkat bites out, but you can tell there really is some concern underneath his angry exterior. It’s kind of adorable. 

"I don’t know. I’ve never been sick before, remember,” you point out.

“Well fuck, what do you want me to do?” he sighs out, looming over you. 

You simply grab his shirt again, pulling him down towards you. “Warm me up.”

For a moment you’re not sure what he’s going to do. A few emotions cross his eyes, too quick for you to follow (though you think you catch indignation). You’re too tired to try to figure him out, either way. Eventually he lets you drag him down, and ends up under the blanket with you.

You instantly wrap your arms around his middle, snuggling into his warmth. He feels like your own personal hot-water bottle, and its really really nice. When you stick your feet on his leg, however, he hisses out a string of curses.

“Keep your cold fucking limbs off me!”

“Thanks, Kit-kat,” you mumble in response, burying your head into his chest. You either don’t get an answer or you fall asleep too quickly to wait for one.

* * *

When you wake up seven and three-quarter hours later, you feel a lot better. Well, your chest is still bothered, and your nose is a little runny, but your mind is actually working. Also, you have an armful of cute, warm troll. That’s kind of nice. 

You don’t remember everything about last night, but you’re pretty sure you were a gigantic tool. And not cool whatso-fucking-ever. Your cheeks almost threaten to heat up when you remember snuggling into Karkat, but then you remind yourself that he was the one that decided to stay, and you can’t help a smug grin. 

You haven’t changed your mind about trying the whole ‘being-into-Karkat’ thing. He really is cute, you muse, following the sharp edge of his jawline up to the more delicate curve of his temple. His lips are sort of thin, and soft, and you think you can see the tip of a fang peeking between them. Holy fuck. 

You must have sucked in a breath because you start coughing suddenly, and Karkat wakes beside you, chittering angrily. 

He calms down when he sees you. At least, he stops making noises, and paps your back instead, shooshing. He’s still bright red, you note, but the soothing rubbing is actually helping. 

“G’morning, Karkitten,” you eventually smirk. He almost leans back, looking suddenly unsure, but you wrap your arms around him. “Nice of you to stay.”

“I couldn’t just leave your bulgesucking ass to die,” he gets out, cheeks puffed up a little. He’s still bright red.

“Didn’t want to let me kick the bucket alone, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, you sponge dead, insipid nookscratcher! You know thats not what I fucking meant!”

You snicker, snuggling into him again, content to just stay there for the rest of the morning. You guess being sick isn’t too bad if you have Karkat looking after you.


End file.
